Dr. Thursday's Post

Learning to See What is Really There

When Frances and Gilbert Chesterton are canonised, as I hope and pray for, one of the many patronic activities he ought to undertake is for all who deal with the eyes - opticians, optometrists, ophthalmologists - and all who read, and all who study the world. One might easily assemble a large collection of GKC quotes by which this very strong sense of a concern for our VISION is expressed. You may probably recall my favourite, which I quote from time to time:

Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only our eyes that have changed.
[The Defendant 3]

which has its echo here: "the most ignorant of humanity know by the very look of earth that they have forgotten heaven." [TEN CW2:226] And, far more important to our topic, in this poem:

"The Mystery"

If sunset clouds could grow on trees
It would but match the may in flower;
And skies be underneath the seas
No topsyturvier than a shower.

If mountains rose on wings to wander
They were no wilder than a cloud;
Yet all my praise is mean as slander,
Mean as these mean words spoken aloud.

And never more than now I know
That man's first heaven is far behind;
Unless the blazing seraph's blow
Has left him in the garden blind.

Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes,
Unthinkable and unthankable King,
That though all other wonder dies
I wonder at not wondering.

[Collected Poems 63-64]

Are you wondering yet? You should be. But let us return to last week's stopping point, and see what more we can see.
Click here to SEE more.

Nursery tales, fairy tales - fantasies. Not simply science texts, not source material for graduate work in literature, not signs of a defective or immature intellect - No - they are medicine, and enrich all the fields of Wisdom:

...even nursery tales only echo an almost pre-natal leap of interest and amazement. These tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water.
[CW1:257]

Remember, O scientist, that you must see what is there before you go back to the lab and dream about what might be behind, beyond, under, over, or within... Remember, O lit'ry person, that your characters and plots, your complications and your imaginations are to embolden, as a signpost to us who are on the Road, whether it be of "Nice View, Pull Over" or "Caution: Bump Ahead" or "Do NOT Enter!" Or, perhaps, "Turn Here for a Better Road".

The next few lines are a bit complex - they are very interesting. They look at first to be about science - then they seem to be about literature - you may discover they have a curious jab at the philosophers... It is a curious thing, that we may advance in reason by forgetting, indeed, by being agnostic? Is that what he says? Yes, but be careful to read it with attention, and think about the rivers and what they run with:

I have said that this is wholly reasonable and even agnostic. And, indeed, on this point I am all for the higher agnosticism; its better name is Ignorance. We have all read in scientific books, and, indeed, in all romances, the story of the man who has forgotten his name. This man walks about the streets and can see and appreciate everything; only he cannot remember who he is. Well, every man is that man in the story. Every man has forgotten who he is. One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God; but thou shalt not know thyself. We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstacy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget.
[CW1:257]

Yes, tricky. There is a famous line, "Know Thyself" which (according to my Bartlett's Quotations) was claimed by Plutarch to be inscribed on the Delphic Oracle, and ascribed by him to Plato; but Pythagoras and others...

Clearly this is an interesting aside - but it is an aside. It is a reminder that all the interesting things around us still cannot help us know the one thing that is really interesting - our own self. It may be trite for me to mention a theme song from a TV show, but GKC stooped to such tritenesses. There is one which makes me think, very pungently, of our Lord, and the great verse of Genesis, "Let us make Man in Our own image." It is this:

No one could ever know me
No one could ever see me
Seems you're the only one who knows
What it's like to be me
[The Rembrants, "Friends" theme song]

Yes, only He does know this, because we certainly don't. Why delve into this? Because it is a reminder to ALL the fields of Wisdom that they omit this most important aspect of our studies...

Now, do not lose heart here. This healthy, forgetful agnosticism is not what we're here for. I said it was almost an aside, though an important aside. Look at the next bit, please:

But though (like the man without memory in the novel) we walk the streets with a sort of half-witted admiration, still it is admiration. It is admiration in English and not only admiration in Latin. The wonder has a positive element of praise. This is the next milestone to be definitely marked on our road through fairyland. I shall speak in the next chapter about optimists and pessimists in their intellectual aspect, so far as they have one. Here I am only trying to describe the enormous emotions which cannot be described. And the strongest emotion was that life was as precious as it was puzzling. It was an ecstacy because it was an adventure; it was an adventure because it was an opportunity.
[CW1:257-8]

Wow, verbal fireworks doubled, tripled - and all kinds of things to unpack!

First, admiration in English is "marvelling esteem accompanied by gratification and delight" or "observation attended by such esteem". In Latin, miror, mirari (a deponent verb, if you wish to know!) means "to wonder, be astonished at".

And praise... I cannot go into this just now; it would bring up a long discussion of the marvellous five verbs at the beginning of the Gloria... but not just now. Note, too, GKC tells us this is our next topic, and note that this is NOT disjoint from what we were talking about - about LAW and about reality, and such things - and about Story, with the capital S.

Then we come to that other troublesome word (I skip ahead here for pedagogical reasons; on real hikes you cannot take the third step BEFORE the second!) - I mean the word "adventure". All of you who have read Tolkien's The Hobbit will recall the very famous dialog of Bilbo with Gandalf at the very beginning - "Adventures! Nasty, inconvenient things. Make one late for dinner." [I quote from memory]

Behold, a junction on the Road! Bilbo meets Uncle Gilbert:

"Adventures are to those to whom they are most unexpected - that is, most romantic. Adventures are to the shy: in this sense adventures are to the unadventurous." [GKC, Heretics CW1:74]

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered."
[ILN July 21 1906 CW27:242]

Now, the one bit I skipped, which comes suitably after mentioning Bilbo, where GKC says "life was as precious as it was puzzling". (hee hee: Riddles in the Dark, anyone?) Ahem. But this word here is cross-connected to our larger topic, that is to elfland, and to reality. In a very few pages we shall read one of the keystone settings of GKC's "motif" about glass, which he felt was most precious:

I felt and feel that life itself is as bright as the diamond, but as brittle as the window-pane; and when the heavens were compared to the terrible crystal I can remember a shudder. I was afraid that God would drop the cosmos with a crash.
[CW1:259-260]

Here is not the time to go further into that particular trail - but the allusion to glass links back to my title. Glass is wonderful, and windows a delight (I mean the lower-case kind, Mr. Gates) but there are certain "indwelling limitations" in these things, which GKC discusses in the splendid discourse on the Seven Windows in Lunacy and Letters. (Again I do not refer to the brittle/smashing aspect, which we shall see when we get to that part of the text.)

Rather, I refer to the transparency of glass and the clarity of windows. (Quiet, please, Mr. Gates!)

"For behind all designs for specific windows stands eternally the essential idea of a window; and the essential idea of a window is a thing which admits light." [Lunacy and Letters, 41]

Perhaps this seems to have wandered very far. No; I am trying to join in other matters. We are struggling along on a great journey which others have also made; some have gone a different route, but gotten to where we are by other means, such as St. Thomas Aquinas,

a very great man who reconciled religion with reason, who expanded it towards experimental science, who insisted that the senses were the windows of the soul and that the reason had a divine right to feed upon facts, and that it was the business of the Faith to digest the strong meat of the toughest and most practical of pagan philosophies. ... St. Thomas insisted that it was lit by five windows, that we call the windows of the senses. But he wanted the light from without to shine on what was within. He wanted to study the nature of Man, and not merely of such moss and mushrooms as he might see through the window, and which he valued as the first enlightening experience of man.
[GKC, St. Thomas Aquinas CW2:430-1, 525]

Please jot that down somewhere nearby. You need to remember that one phrase: "The sense are the windows of the soul." That's what is going on here. We are seeing things as they are, but we are still using windows, even when we talk of retinas or mesons or galaxies... Perhaps you do need to go along this side path just a little, so you'll see what I mean:

When a child looks out of the nursery window and sees anything, say the green lawn of the garden, what does he actually know; or does he know anything? There are all sorts of nursery games of negative philosophy played round this question. A brilliant Victorian scientist delighted in declaring that the child does not see any grass at all; but only a sort of green mist reflected in a tiny mirror of the human eye. This piece of rationalism has always struck me as almost insanely irrational. If he is not sure of the existence of the grass, which he sees through the glass of a window, how on earth can he be sure of the existence of the retina, which he sees through the glass of a microscope?
[ibid CW2:528]

Yes, nursery games, fairy tales. They help us see what is really there: grass, sun - and retina.

If you want to know yourself, you might find no better way than to get to know the Elves. ("Elves, sir!" cried Sam Gamgee.)

--Dr. Thursday

Dr. Thursday's Post

Change is NOT GOOD: Reality and Law and Magic
Or, "Mere life is interesting enough."

No I am NOT at the conference this year. That wasn't possible for me, due to various dull complications. Mere life, as you shall see.

Because of other dull complications, this morning I had to set up another means of e-mailing myself using this "web" method everybody seems to like. If I had time I would have written the program myself, but I don't. It IS Thursday. And, much like Chesterton, who reacted profitably to his surroundings, even when he was late for a train, I have taken a verse from that horrible "web" mail program to drive today's posting.

This poorly scripted web thing, from a most poor company, proclaims "Change is Good".

Dante didn't say so, but I believe that that epigram is burnt into Satan's tongue... Ahem! I said I wasn't going to get into demonology here. Yes. Instead I will do it another way. Let's see. Let us use a syllogism: a bit roughly formed, yes, but who knows "Barbara Celarent" any more?

Premise 1: We assume that "Change is good."
Premise 2: At present in America we do not permit ownership of slaves.
Premise 3: It is a change to go from not permitting ownership of slaves to permitting it.
Thus we deduce: It will be good to permit ownership of slaves.
BUT: we know that ownership of slaves is bad.
THEREFORE: we have logically demonstrated that "change" is NOT good. Correct. (Thank God.)

Certainly "Change" is an aspect of the nature of time, BUT there are things that do NOT change:

There must in every machine be a part that moves and a part that stands still; there must be in everything that changes a part that is unchangeable.
[GKC What's Wrong With the World CW 4:116-117]

Today, we are going to learn more about this, and why it is so. I know some of you will have a problem with my use of the "M" word, but perhaps, after today, you won't. In any case, you will now need to use magic. Wands out, please... OK you are going to be stubborn? Then I will have to call in the Law...

Click here to advance.Actually that's the whole mystery of today's study. Law and magic, things that repeat and things that change, even if they don't change much. Like sunrise. And if I stepped on a lot of toes last week, you ain't seen nothin' yet. (We shall consider pages 255-256 of CW1 today.)

Now that we all got our boots on, let's stomp some toes - ready?

In fairyland we avoid the word "law"; but in the land of science they are singularly fond of it.
[CW1:255]

All the white-lab coat gang cringe. Sure! There are Newton's Laws (really Buridan's of course, for those of us who've been keeping up with the history of science). There are Kepler's Laws - no, Galileo, modern science does NOT agree with you; they are ellipses, not circles! Boyle and Snell and Steno and Ohm and Ampere and (all bow) MAXWELL'S LAWS... yes.

But (as they pull their chemical stained hankies from their lab coats and sniffle) Chesterton goes on to say:

Thus they will call some interesting conjecture about how forgotten folks pronounced the alphabet, Grimm's Law.[CW1:255]

The lab-coated ones look around... is Chem? no; Geo? no; Physics or Bio? No, nope... wait a second .... they look around frantically...

Oh, ho! the boot is stomping on the other side of the aisle!

GRIMM ISN'T A SCIENTIST. And they are brothers - LITR'Y brothers. (also known as "Liberal Arts") Yeah, these are the same Grimm brothers that did the fairy tales - but they also did some philological thing or other - you know, the mechanics of language, like Tolkien. (The Law is something like this: the "p" in Latin and Greek becomes "f" in Germanic languages, which is why Latin has pater and English has father, but there are exceptions and all kinds of modifications... well. This is part of what GKC is getting at.)

But for the moment, it's just hilarious to see that bunch squirm, because like all the historical fields, there is no science (in the scientific sense) in them. There is, in the Latin sense - for there is knowledge. If we ever do GKC's The Everlasting Man we'll hear more about that sort of "science". And you ought to be hearing GKC on this, not me:

But Grimm's Law is far less intellectual than Grimm's Fairy Tales. The tales are, at any rate, certainly tales; while the law is not a law. A law implies that we know the nature of the generalisation and enactment; not merely that we have noticed some of the effects.
[CW1:255]

Sure, and now the philologists agree - they love Tolkien, and the brothers Grimm, even if they've long since modified their Law. But now, of course, the lawyers will be throwing torts and subpoenas and all their weaponry at us. (I prefer strawberry tort, myself.) But it is best if they read it, and find they too must agree:

If there is a law that pick-pockets shall go to prison, it implies that there is an imaginable mental connection between the idea of prison and the idea of picking pockets. And we know what the idea is. We can say why we take liberty from a man who takes liberties.
[CW1:255]

Ah, now you feel some harmony about that syllogism I started off with. They tried a verbal firework ("Change is good") but it went off in their faces - for slavery is not good. After all, there must be something unchangeable...

Now, if we wanted to get into a REAL discussion about "law" in science, we might take Newton (Buridan) and see what happened when Einstein got into that whole speed of light thing. But besides being kicked by all the litr'ry people, the scientists would be screaming "You're forgetting Maxwell!" (with a bow, of course). But remember how, in past chapters, we saw that GKC makes a point, sometimes very sketchily, but always a sharp point? GKC is NOT setting up to argue Grimm's Law (or Newton/Buridan, or even Maxwell (bow)). He's trying to get to the essence of "LAW".

And the avenue he takes is the one most feared by some - the avenue of magic. And NOW we get to the really important thing.

Because the power of magic is not in its mechanism - for then it would be strict science (I mean physics, let us say, or another such branch). It is in its AUTHORITY. At stake is not the means - I distill various materials in my lab, and make a stick, and wave the stick and it glows ... because of the oxidation of luminol, or the friction of red phosphorus with potassium chlorate, or a spiral of tungsten, or perhaps a layered arrangement of certain doped semiconductors, wired together with a metal and reactive chemical power source - and so on. Those means, as mystical and as occult (remember that means HIDDEN) as they are, are completely natural, and straightforward for anyone to accomplish with some training and understanding of the terms.

But - if a certain person walked into a forest, danced around a tree in the dead of night, then picked a branch from it and waved it thrice above his head, muttering some poorly conjugated Latin imperative - and it burst into flame - why, then we are talking about authority - this is NOT something to be explained by chemistry or electronics, and one does not find it in standard reference books. Either he is working by divine power (which is good) or by abuse of divine power (which is evil). Obviously, you can light your flashlight which you bought in a department store and use it to help rescue a stranded traveller - or to burgle a house - again, you are working either by divine power, or abusing it - and no occult issue arises.

We are NOT exploring magic. We are getting at an issue. The Great issue. The reality of things, and the idea of "law" which makes things as they are in our world... and it must be understood, not as a clever game (like Grimm, or even Maxwell (bow)!) but as a personal power, somehow attached to one who is able to make choices... that is, as Magic.

But let GKC tell you:

All the terms used in the science books, "law," "necessity," "order," "tendency," and so on, are really unintellectual, because they assume an inner synthesis, which we do not possess. The only words that ever satisfied me as describing Nature are the terms used in the fairy books, "charm," "spell," "enchantment." They express the arbitrariness of the fact and its mystery. ... I deny altogether that this is fantastic or even mystical. We may have some mysticism later on; but this fairy-tale language about things is simply rational and agnostic. It is the only way I can express in words my clear and definite perception that one thing is quite distinct from another; that there is no logical connection between flying and laying eggs. It is the man who talks about "a law" that he has never seen who is the mystic.
[CW1:256]

We must here turn, for a moment, to see how incredibly high we have journeyed today. We are at the almost unimaginable height, where science and law and even Grimm's Law and its literary congeners meet - and we find a path leading upwards labelled "Story". GKC does not here advance along it, but he notes a little of its character. You can find an excellent essay, "On Fairy-Stories" in A Tolkien Reader and the essential guidebook in GKC's The Everlasting Man CW2:380. But for now, you may be content with even this glimpse:

Just as we all like love tales because there is an instinct of sex, we all like astonishing tales because they touch the nerve of the ancient instinct of astonishment. This is proved by the fact that when we are very young children we do not need fairy tales: we only need tales. Mere life is interesting enough. A child of seven is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door and saw a dragon. But a child of three is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door. Boys like romantic tales; but babies like realistic tales - because they find them romantic.
[CW1:256]

I thought I would have more to say, but I cannot say it now; I find this overwhelmingly lovely and am now impelled to resume my work...

You might read some more; try to get to page 260 if you can; this is all the same matter, and deserves reading, re-reading, and discussion. I shall resume on the topic next time.

Do not forget that on Saturday we celebrate the 72nd anniversary of the departure of GKC for the Inn at the End of the World. Let us pause for a moment in prayer, and gratitude for this great man.

Monsignor Smith anointed him and then Father Vincent arrived in response to a message from Frances which he thought meant she wanted him to see Gilbert for the last time. Taken to the sick room he sang over the dying man the Salve Regina. This hymn to Our Lady is sung in the Dominican Order over every dying friar and it was surely fitting for the biographer of St. Thomas and the ardent suppliant of Our Lady:

"Salve Regina, mater misericordiae, vita dulcedo et spes nostra salve.... Et Jesum benedictum fructum ventris tui nobis post hoc exsilium ostende...."

Gilbert's pen lay on the table beside his bed and Father Vincent picked it up and kissed it.

It was June 14, 1936, the Sunday within the Octave of Corpus Christi, the same Feast as his reception into the Church fourteen years earlier. The Introit for that day's Mass was printed on his Memorial card, so that, as Father Ignatius Rice noted with a smile, even his Memorial card had a joke about his size:

The Lord became my protector and he brought me forth into a large place. He saved me because he was well pleased with me. I will love Thee O Lord my strength. The Lord is my firmament and my refuge and my deliverer. [Ps17:19-20, 2-3]

To these words from the Mass, Frances added Walter de la Mare's tribute:

Knight of the Holy Ghost, he goes his way
Wisdom his motley, Truth his loving jest;
The mills of Satan keep his lance in play,
Pity and innocence his heart at rest.

[Quoted from Maisie Ward's biography, Gilbert Keith Chesterton 650-651]

Requiescat in pace. Gilbert and Frances pray for us, and lead us to the Everlasting Man.

--Dr. Thursday

Dr. Thursday's Post

Testing Your Imagination: the Sunny Country of Common Sense, and the Decrees of Cold Reason

In one week, Chestertonians will be meeting in Minnesota to eat together, buy books, talk, drink various liquids (Petta wine... ah, and perhaps homebrewed beers) talk, laugh, play games, and other things. They may even get to listen to talks about the book we have been examining here on Thursdays... I understand there are to be talks on each of its chapters, and if you wish to know more about this great book, I strongly urge you to go to the conference if you can - I cannot. But if you cannot go, you may purchase the talks on CD for your own listening pleasure. It's just like a blogg, except you won't be able to post comments. This may be the next big project once we figure out how to stop using 2,2,4 trimethyl pentane. (That's that stuff you feed your automobile with.) Ahem.

But let us proceed to the next part of our chapter. We are in "The Ethics of Elfland" - as GKC says, "I deal here with what ethic and philosophy come from being fed on fairy tales." [CW1:253]

Much to the lit'ry folk's dismay, however, and to the scientist's glee, this chapter is one of the most bold, and richest sources of what we could call GKC's philosophy of science. I do not have room to elaborate on this today - you can find it in Fr. Jaki's wonderful Chesterton A Seer of Science - he calls it "one of the most penetrating discourses on the nature of scientific reasoning that has been so far produced." [CASOS 13] And, if you read that book, you will learn where this chapter was once excerpted - one of the most surprising places any Chestertonian can imagine finding GKC...

I will tell you if you click here.

On page 14, Fr. Jaki tells us that "about one-third of chapter 4 of Orthodoxy, "The Ethics of Elfland," was "reprinted in 1957 in, of all places, Great Essays in Science, a title in the Pocket Library. A typical first printing of titles in that series was in the tens of thousands, and copies were available not only in all bookshops but also at many newsstands in the 1950s and 1960s. There was Chesterton in the company of Albert Einstein, Charles Darwin, Henri Fabre, J.R. Oppenheimer, Arthur Stanley Eddington, Alfred North Whitehead, and Bertrand Russell, so many giants in mathematics, physics, and natural history. Chesterton was also in the company of such prominent interpreters of science as John Dewey, Ernest Nagel, and even T. H. and Julian Huxley."

I believe I have mentioned this before, but now that we are here, you need to hear it again. That volume was edited by Martin Gardner, who had his own comments to make on why he put GKC there, but we are talking about GKC, not Gardner or Jaki. I must, however, here briefly quote Jaki about GKC, for Jaki's own prowess as a philosopher and a critic of GKC is important to our task of grasping GKC's work - and to bolster our confidence that we are truly on the high road of Truth:

A summing up of the selection is not an easy task, as it is never easy to give a concise and systematic outline of any of Chesterton's philosophical chapters and books. A philosopher of tremendous incisiveness, he is never discursive.
[Jaki, CASOS 15]

I have used the analogy of a hike for our tour of this book - you must recall that hikes are often strenuous, and even dangerous in places; they tax you, and are sometimes inconvenient - but they give you views which you cannot acquire on the highway, or stuck in your office or your home. Also, they do another thing, something which brings me to today's excerpt: they take you to your destination.

Now, you are whining again. People don't go on hikes to get somewhere, sort of like Mary and Joseph going to Bethlehem to get there by April 15... er - you know what I mean, that's what I get for saying this was "taxing", hee hee. The typical hike seems to be a loop - you start here, go out for a while and come back to where you started (home, your car, whatever). So what's the point?

Whiner.

That is the point. (remember GKC talking about discovering England???) Think about it, and once you've started your thought machinery, take the next paragraph:

If I were describing them [fairy tales] in detail I could note many noble and healthy principles that arise from them. There is the chivalrous lesson of "Jack the Giant Killer"; that giants should be killed because they are gigantic. It is a manly mutiny against pride as such. For the rebel is older than all the kingdoms, and the Jacobin has more tradition than the Jacobite. There is the lesson of "Cinderella," which is the same as that of the Magnificat - exaltavit humiles. There is the great lesson of "Beauty and the Beast"; that a thing must be loved before it is loveable. There is the terrible allegory of the "Sleeping Beauty," which tells how the human creature was blessed with all birthday gifts, yet cursed with death; and how death also may perhaps be softened to a sleep. But I am not concerned with any of the separate statutes of elfland, but with the whole spirit of its law, which I learnt before I could speak, and shall retain when I cannot write. I am concerned with a certain way of looking at life, which was created in me by the fairy tales, but has since been meekly ratified by the mere facts.
[CW1:253]

OK, some notes may be helpful here.

"Jacobin": a member of a political group during the French Revolution.
"Jacobite": a Scottish supporter of King James II (around 1688) James is the usual English rendering of the Hebrew name Jacob.
"exaltavit humiles": Latin for "He has lifted up the lowly" this is from Mary's "Magnificat" - see Luke 1:52.

Wow... How many other bible scholars have connected "Cinderella" with the Magnificat? There you go.

Also, in my own copy of the book I have a cross-link to another essay of GKC, which I give for your own reference. It shows that GKC had been working on this matter for some years before 1908:

Fairy tales are the only true accounts that man has ever given of his destiny. ‘Jack the Giant-Killer’ is the embodiment of the first of the three great paradoxes by which men live. It is the paradox of Courage: the paradox which says, ‘You must defy the thing that is terrifying; unless you are frightened, you are not brave.’ ‘Cinderella’ is the embodiment of the second of the paradoxes by which men live: the paradox of Humility which says ‘Look for the best in the thing, ignorant of its merit; he that abases himself shall be exalted’. And ‘Beauty and the Beast’ is the embodiment of the third of the paradoxes by which men live: the paradox of Faith - the absolutely necessary and wildly unreasonable maxim which says to every mother with a child or to every patriot with a country, ‘You must love the thing first and make it lovable afterwards.’
[GKC's essay for Sept 27 1904 in The World, excerpted in Maycock's The Man Who Was Orthodox]

Now, of course, the lit'ry people are all happy; they have a Latin quote, and some history and all that. The scientists are bored. Now, as usual with these hikes, we flip. Which means it's time for a humour break:

Q. "How far can a dog run into the forest?"
A. "Halfway. After that, he's running out."

Yes... for the next paragraph begins the "penetrating discourse" on science that Jaki sees in GKC. Please read it carefully. Warning! This is an uphill leg, and shall continue for some time - We - and the elves - are now going to DIG into the great matter of logic and of math and of science - and find out - well, we will find out something akin to our discovery that our hike takes us home. Ready? Proceed:

... There are certain sequences or developments (cases of one thing following another), which are, in the true sense of the word, reasonable. They are, in the true sense of the word, necessary. Such are mathematical and merely logical sequences. We in fairyland (who are the most reasonable of all creatures) admit that reason and that necessity. For instance, if the Ugly Sisters are older than Cinderella, it is (in an iron and awful sense) necessary that Cinderella is younger than the Ugly Sisters. There is no getting out of it. Haeckel may talk as much fatalism about that fact as he pleases: it really must be. If Jack is the son of a miller, a miller is the father of Jack. Cold reason decrees it from her awful throne: and we in fairyland submit. If the three brothers all ride horses, there are six animals and eighteen legs involved: that is true rationalism, and fairyland is full of it. But as I put my head over the hedge of the elves and began to take notice of the natural world, I observed an extraordinary thing. I observed that learned men in spectacles were talking of the actual things that happened - dawn and death and so on - as if they were rational and inevitable. They talked as if the fact that trees bear fruit were just as necessary as the fact that two and one trees make three. But it is not. There is an enormous difference by the test of fairyland; which is the test of the imagination. You cannot imagine two and one not making three. But you can easily imagine trees not growing fruit; you can imagine them growing golden candlesticks or tigers hanging on by the tail. These men in spectacles spoke much of a man named Newton, who was hit by an apple, and who discovered a law. But they could not be got to see the distinction between a true law, a law of reason, and the mere fact of apples falling. If the apple hit Newton's nose, Newton's nose hit the apple. That is a true necessity: because we cannot conceive the one occurring without the other. But we can quite well conceive the apple not falling on his nose; we can fancy it flying ardently through the air to hit some other nose, of which it had a more definite dislike. We have always in our fairy tales kept this sharp distinction between the science of mental relations, in which there really are laws, and the science of physical facts, in which there are no laws, but only weird repetitions. We believe in bodily miracles, but not in mental impossibilities. We believe that a Bean-stalk climbed up to Heaven; but that does not at all confuse our convictions on the philosophical question of how many beans make five.
[CW1:253-4]

We are going to investigate more on this Chestertonian view of "law" and "necessity" - yes, and "miracle" - and find out that while we get much higher, the climb gets easier. You note, of course, that GKC continually gives us parables - or examples - we are not dealing with equations or meticulous philosophical terms and links. Nevertheless, the ideas are clear, they are not irrational, or unreasonable.

But! here we have the rich troves where all the departments of the Kingdom of Wisdom may cavort and rejoice. The hedge of the elves - try poking your own head over it. People are commonly of the opinion that "imagination" means dragons or stuff like that, and is great for writing fantasies or maybe video games. But actually, there are few fields of study which need imagination more than the hard sciences - yes, and even mathematics.

You may, of course, realize that GKC is talking about some profound philosophy here: the ideas of causality, of reason, and of imagination - and perhaps you think this is a height the untrained hiker ought to avoid! Oh, no. There is a famous line from the Gospels, where Jesus tells the apostles on Peter's little ship, "Set out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch". [Lk 5:4] The Latin has Duc in altum. Huh - it sounds like "altitude"? Yes, the same word is both "high, height" and "deep"! You must set out, even in your little boat, that you may have a good catch...

(Yes, I know, it's a mixed metaphor: hiking, fishing... well, I do what I can. Mix well.)

But let us see just one more paragraph today, which mixes apples and ogres, physics and fantasy...

Here is the peculiar perfection of tone and truth in the nursery tales. The man of science says, "Cut the stalk, and the apple will fall"; but he says it calmly, as if the one idea really led up to the other. The witch in the fairy tale says, "Blow the horn, and the ogre's castle will fall"; but she does not say it as if it were something in which the effect obviously arose out of the cause. Doubtless she has given the advice to many champions, and has seen many castles fall, but she does not lose either her wonder or her reason. She does not muddle her head until it imagines a necessary mental connection between a horn and a falling tower. But the scientific men do muddle their heads, until they imagine a necessary mental connection between an apple leaving the tree and an apple reaching the ground. They do really talk as if they had found not only a set of marvellous facts, but a truth connecting those facts. They do talk as if the connection of two strange things physically connected them philosophically. They feel that because one incomprehensible thing constantly follows another incomprehensible thing the two together somehow make up a comprehensible thing. Two black riddles make a white answer.
[CW1:254-5]

Again, splendid! Such guides ought to be posted in every laboratory, in every research facility... How much further would we go, how much safer would we be, how much less would we waste, if we understood. And you - you lit'ry people - do you not see how you should be seeking to guide the scientists? No, not by your own brand of pompous technical obfuscation - but by bringing your splendid gifts to aid them! They give you your lights, your paper, your ink, your computers, laser printers, and web-search tools - what do you give them? Essays on the esoteric meaning of some play or poem? Dull! Why not give something like this rich harvest of deep thought? Please, both sides ought to be working on that bridge. (That is GKC's "bridge between science and human nature".)

Then, we can stand together and poke our heads "over the hedge of the elves", and rejoice at the wonders we see.

OK... if you think this was a rough journey with all the elves and philosophers and scientists fussing over causality, wait till you see what's coming! Next week, we'll have even more fun when the Law gets involved. "Woe to you lawyers!" [Lk 11:46] Hee, hee. Unless you're at the conference - let's hope the Law doesn't get involved there too.

--Dr. Thursday

HB GKC

GKC's Birthday: his First and Last Philosophy

Today we recall GKC's birthday - and we have a most fitting pair of paragraphs from Orthodoxy to consider - which are to be found in CW1:252-3. (Yes, I know we are going slowly, but I am typing as fast as I can. Hee hee.)

During a previous round of research into GKC, I had reason to obtain some very interesting reference works. One of them is The Oxford Classical Dictionary which I consulted to learn more about the very curious Lares et Penates - the "household gods" which appear when GKC discusses ancient Rome in his The Everlasting Man.
Oy. I hear the whine already: "Ancient Roman gods? Why? Is this some more of that much-vaunted 'demonology' you seem to like so much, Doctor?" Heavens, no! Because like one of those spine-tingling chords from Mendelssohn - or the Beach Boys - there is this very wonderful line in that book, which I needed to understand to penetrate to its richest fullness:

They [the ancient Romans] might have found in that strange place [the cave in Bethlehem] all that was best in the last traditions of the Latins; and something better than a wooden idol standing up forever for the pillar of the human family; a household god.
[GKC The Everlasting Man CW2:308, emphasis added]

Wow. Like that Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, where Calvin says, "you're squeezing me so tight you make my tears leak out." Oh, if only we could really understand how God chose Rome as well as Israel... Besides, if you think THAT is demonology, just wait till you see what's going to rear its ten-horned head in just a bit!

Ahem. But I also got another book. (We were talking about interesting reference books; of course the C&H texts are not on that shelf, but they are not far away at all, oh, no.) It is a two-volume reference work called The Encyclopedia of the Early Church, and I mention it because it was there that I learned a very curious Greek word, the word "psephy" (p. 953) - which comes from the word for "pebble" - and means the practice of taking letters for numbers and getting a number corresponding to some word or other. There's an English word with the same root: "psephology" - which is the science of elections and voting (dimpled chads, you know?) One of the most famous biblical numbers is understood to be a result of this practice - the number 666 (or 616 in some translations) which is also called "the number of the Beast" (Rev 13:18)

Now, strange to say, people rather easily understand the idea of anti-Christ. They have some clue to that infernal horror - simply because they have a clue to Christ. Yes, this writing IS about Orthodoxy; here's GKC's simple statement on the point: "The only explanation which immediately occurred to my mind was that Christianity did not come from heaven, but from hell. Really, if Jesus of Nazareth was not Christ, He must have been Antichrist." [CW1:294] But there is a richer and more illuminating link:

Cardinal Newman wrote in his liveliest controversial work a sentence that might be a model of what we mean by saying that his creed tends to lucidity and logical courage. In speaking of the ease with which truth may be made to look like its own shadow or sham, he said, "And if Antichrist is like Christ, Christ I suppose is like Antichrist."
[GKC, St. Francis of Assisi CW2:103-4]

Very instructive for those of us who are studying Cardinal Newman and his connection to GKC! Yes, the infernal being is somehow opposite to Christ - of course it is impossible (as our staff ontologist will tell you) for it to be perfectly opposite, since evil is a privation and every existence as such is good. Ahem. (He talks even more than I do!) But the reason why I brought all this up is to point out that though everybody knows about 666 for antiChrist, very few people have any idea what the number for Christ is. And you most likely cannot guess, unless you happen to know how the ancient Greeks wrote their numbers.

That number happens to stand at the beginning and the ending of the very next bit of our study - the gateway (lit by a Paschal candle) that we must now pass into...
Click to proceed.

The number is 801 - which is the value for Alpha and Omega. ("Number" in The Encyclopedia of the Early Church, p. 606) When Americans talk about such things we say "from sea to shining sea" - musicians say from C to C, unless you are a pipe organ person (which have a C-side and a C-sharp side) or from the Middle Ages, where they had other names for "doe-a-deer" and said from "Gamma" to ut - which is where we get the word "gamut".

What's all this about? All - yes, exactly. It's about "all". GKC is about to state a general idea:

Now, I have to put together a general position, and I pretend to no training in such things. I propose to do it, therefore, by writing down one after another the three or four fundamental ideas which I have found for myself, pretty much in the way that I found them. Then I shall roughly synthesise them, summing up my personal philosophy or natural religion; then I shall describe my startling discovery that the whole thing had been discovered before. It had been discovered by Christianity. But of these profound persuasions which I have to recount in order, the earliest was concerned with this element of popular tradition. And without the foregoing explanation touching tradition and democracy I could hardly make my mental experience clear. As it is, I do not know whether I can make it clear, but I now propose to try.
[CW1:252]

Like I said, the gate. (Oh, no, please Doc, not another side trip about Boolean logic and computer chips and Jesus saying "I am the gate" [Jn10:9]) OK, I won't. Your loss. We can go there some other time.

But erecting the first principle is always the hardest. The ancients knew this, and often performed sacrifice at the inception of a building - we still lay cornerstones with great ceremony, and have graduation ceremonies (those are beginnings, not endings, like birth and death are!) And this particular one - I mean this first of GKC's principles is hard - hard to take. Because some of you are not going to like it. Some scientists, some lit'ry people, some of the Potterites, some of the anti-Potterites. Because it deals with literature and with science, with good and with evil, with reality and with fantasy. But see how GKC states his to Alfa kai to W = the Alpha and Omega of his thought:

My first and last philosophy, that which I believe in with unbroken certainty, I learnt in the nursery. I generally learnt it from a nurse; that is, from the solemn and star-appointed priestess at once of democracy and tradition. The things I believed most then, the things I believe most now, are the things called fairy tales. They seem to me to be the entirely reasonable things. They are not fantasies: compared with them other things are fantastic. Compared with them religion and rationalism are both abnormal, though religion is abnormally right and rationalism abnormally wrong. Fairyland is nothing but the sunny country of common sense. It is not earth that judges heaven, but heaven that judges earth; so for me at least it was not earth that criticised elfland, but elfland that criticised the earth. I knew the magic beanstalk before I had tasted beans; I was sure of the Man in the Moon before I was certain of the moon. This was at one with all popular tradition. Modern minor poets are naturalists, and talk about the bush or the brook; but the singers of the old epics and fables were supernaturalists, and talked about the gods of brook and bush. That is what the moderns mean when they say that the ancients did not "appreciate Nature," because they said that Nature was divine. Old nurses do not tell children about the grass, but about the fairies that dance on the grass; and the old Greeks could not see the trees for the dryads.
[CW1:252-3]

Yes; you see? You thought I was way off base talking about the household gods or about 666. But if you are thinking this path (as hard as it is) leads away from God, from Christianity, or even from real things, and stuff like science and all that - oh, are you going to be surprised!

You see, this idea is not really something new. That's GKC's point. He saw something, something profoundly powerful, in the silly little stories like Jack and the Beanstalk and so on - something true. Something which told him about real things. It is utterly useless for a Christian to talk about Jesus as "God-Man" if he won't first acknowledge the idea of Man. Or for a scientist to talk about galaxies if he won't acknowledge stars. Or - yes - for a literary person to talk about plots or themes if he avoids the best plots and the oldest themes, used for millennia by nearly every civilisation on earth!

This is a key. We wield it, and the gate opens, and we enter through. You are surprised that the gate opens with nursery tales? Prepare for even greater surprises.

The next paragraphs will proceed much, much deeper into the matter of fantasy - and of science - than you may have ever studied, regardless of your background. Please God we shall get to them in coming weeks. But until then, you should re-read just these two paragraphs, and pray that you can be willing to examine them justly, and not with bitterness. They are not easy, but they are also wonderful.

--Dr. Thursday

PS. Wow, it's before lunch and no mention of food? Oh - nope, I missed it. GKC mentions tasting beans. Good. (hee hee) No beans today: birthday cake!

Happy Birthday GKC

Happy 134th Birthday, GKC!
(or: Bacon! Beer! Birthday!)

Bowing down in blind credulity, as is my custom, before mere authority
and the tradition of the elders, superstitiously swallowing a story I
could not test at the time by experiment or private judgment, I am
firmly of opinion that I was born on the 29th of May, 1874, on Campden
Hill, Kensington; and baptised according to the formularies of the
Church of England in the little church of St. George opposite the large
Waterworks Tower that dominated that ridge. I do not allege any
significance in the relation of the two buildings; and I indignantly
deny that the church was chosen because it needed the whole water-power
of West London to turn me into a Christian.
Nevertheless, the great Waterworks Tower was destined to play its part
in my life, as I shall narrate on a subsequent page; but that story is
connected with my own experiences, whereas my birth (as I have said) is
an incident which I accept, like some poor ignorant peasant, only
because it has been handed down to me by oral tradition.
[GKC, Autobiography CW16:21]

Demons and Democracy: the Strange Color of the Nearby

(If you are reading along: Orthodoxy Chapter IV "The Ethics of Elfland" first five paragraphs CW1:249-252)

I told you last week there would be no demonism on our adventure into Elfland... and there won't be. Except in one punning way, which is one of the really beloved lines spoken by Father Brown. You will perhaps disagree. I think it reveals his humility, and the too-easily forgotten fact that priests must themselves confess their sins:

"I am a man," answered Father Brown gravely; "and therefore have all devils in my heart."
[GKC, "The Hammer Of God" in The Innocence of Father Brown]

One of the prayers the priest says at Holy Mass hints at this authentic view of the priesthood:

"Accept O Holy Father, Almighty and Eternal God, this spotless host, which I, your unworthy servant, offer to You, my living and true God, to atone for my numberless sins, offenses, and negligences; on behalf of all here present and likewise for all faithful Christians living and dead, that it may profit me and them as a means of salvation to life everlasting. Amen.

But we are not here to examine liturgy... but rather demon... ahem, excuse me. I mean democracy.

No, not as in the opposite of "Republican"! (And I thought I was skating on thin ice with the reference to magic. Hee hee.)

But - as I warned you last time, you must pay very close attention to the words here. There will be some words you know, and perhaps have some strong feelings on - like "democracy" and "liberal" and "tradition". Most importantly you need to know that these terms are being used in their full, classical, "rich" or perhaps "proper" sense (in heraldry, something "proper" means it is shown in its true colors), and emphatically not as political terms.

You are puzzled. We have crossed a bridge, into a world which I have rather carefully avoided naming (though you are all writing "May 22 - entering Elfland" down in your hiker log books). You thought we would be meeting strange, remarkable, unexpected, surprising creatures - hobbits and elves or dwarves (dwarfs, if you are not a Tolkien person) or maybe Milo or Bastian or that Poppins woman - or at least Spock or E.T. or even Mr. Potter (it is a wonderful life, you know?) And instead I bring up GKC's drudgery of what sounds like government or maybe education. Oh, how surprised you'll be... we shall indeed meet some remarkable creatures. You must be bold... and you will be surprised!
Wave wand here if you feel bold.

Now, having mentioned Milo, the bored hero of The Phantom Tollbooth, you will be surprised, as I was, in what we find in the very first sentence from our chapter:

When the business man rebukes the idealism of his office-boy, it is commonly in some such speech as this: "Ah, yes, when one is young, one has these ideals in the abstract and these castles in the air; but in middle age they all break up like clouds, and one comes down to a belief in practical politics, to using the machinery one has and getting on with the world as it is."
[CW1:249, emphasis added]

If you've never read that book, you must know that "The Castle in the Air" is the prison to which the princesses of Sweet Rhyme and Pure Reason were banished, and the demons guard the path to it... Ah, so you are starting to feel something? Good, good. It's starting, then.

The start is a bit slow. As usual, GKC uses a rather complex analogy, drawn from his own late Victorian youth, and the world he knows, to try to explain something even more complex. It is a kind of parable, laden as usual with verbal fireworks, and a confusing term or two, but it contains something striking, which is like chrome. For "the strong chromium" as a friend of mine says, "has the strange color of the nearby". Yes, chrome and so many metals act as mirrors when polished. And this is the first kind of magic GKC reveals to us.

We must understand what GKC is doing. He now has "to trace the roots of my personal speculation" - that is, explain how he started to get to HIS view of things, which is so different from what we saw in the previous chapters. He believes in "Liberalism" - but not in "Liberals". Note! I have no time to give you the grand explanation of what these words meant in England of 1908 - but that precision hardly matters to us. You will see it clearly, as in a mirror (!) very shortly, as GKC proceeds. But... if you find this too confusing, read these lines:

They said that I should lose my ideals and begin to believe in the methods of practical politicians. Now, I have not lost my ideals in the least; my faith in fundamentals is exactly what it always was. What I have lost is my old childlike faith in practical politics. ...

I was brought up a Liberal, and have always believed in democracy, in the elementary liberal doctrine of a self-governing humanity. If any one finds the phrase vague or threadbare, I can only pause for a moment to explain that the principle of democracy, as I mean it, can be stated in two propositions. The first is this: that the things common to all men are more important than the things peculiar to any men. Ordinary things are more valuable than extraordinary things; nay, they are more extraordinary. Man is something more awful than men; something more strange. The sense of the miracle of humanity itself should be always more vivid to us than any marvels of power, intellect, art, or civilization. The mere man on two legs, as such, should be felt as something more heartbreaking than any music and more startling than any caricature.
[CW1:249-250]

(Yes, there's a ref. to Manalive where a telegram reads "Man Found Alive With Two Legs" - what you haven't read it yet? Get busy.)

Verbal fireworks? Or words on fire doing work? You will hunt very hard to find a real politician, in either England of 1908 or America of 2008, who acts on these terms, who sees the miracle of humanity.

But (you say) I thought you said it wasn't going to be about politics?

GKC dragged it in, not me. But proceed, and be surprised:

This is the first principle of democracy: that the essential things in men are the things they hold in common, not the things they hold separately. And the second principle is merely this: that the political instinct or desire is one of these things which they hold in common. Falling in love is more poetical than dropping into poetry. The democratic contention is that government (helping to rule the tribe) is a thing like falling in love, and not a thing like dropping into poetry. It is not something analogous to playing the church organ, painting on vellum, discovering the North Pole (that insidious habit), looping the loop, being Astronomer Royal, and so on. For these things we do not wish a man to do at all unless he does them well. It is, on the contrary, a thing analogous to writing one's own love-letters or blowing one's own nose. These things we want a man to do for himself, even if he does them badly. I am not here arguing the truth of any of these conceptions; I know that some moderns are asking to have their wives chosen by scientists, and they may soon be asking, for all I know, to have their noses blown by nurses. I merely say that mankind does recognize these universal human functions, and that democracy classes government among them. In short, the democratic faith is this: that the most terribly important things must be left to ordinary men themselves - the mating of the sexes, the rearing of the young, the laws of the state. This is democracy; and in this I have always believed.
[CW1:250]

Now, the well-read Chestertonian will immediately hear the echo of a very famous quote: "if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly." [GKC, speaking of Woman in What's Wrong With the World CW4:199] And, for completeness, this idea of "blowing your own nose" also appears in Heretics, and I leave it for anyone who wants a nice workout side hike; you can find it in CW1:203.

Again, you are wondering: where is the magic? Where are the strange beings?

YOU ARE SEEING THEM. Elvish zoologists call them "humans". (You'll find out about the magic soon enough.) GKC supposes that there is some fundamental law which underlies all sorts of things - which he sums up in the idea that we ought to do certain things for ourselves, as much as we possibly can. (In another context, this idea is a part of the design method called "Subsidiarity" - an ancient idea, and part of Catholic Social Teaching, and about which I have written elsewhere.) But as a broadly used term in government, not delving into the depths or distinctions of some governing mechanism, "democracy" means "rule by the people" - the people choose the arrangements. Like Athens of long ago... Ah, so nice. The splendid happy life of ancient Greece and all that. Houses, Senates, meetings, elections... Ahem. But GKC does not sit and bask in the Mediterranean warmth. He reveals some real depths to this supposedly well-known term, and gives us some singularly rich insights:

But there is one thing that I have never from my youth up been able to understand. I have never been able to understand where people got the idea that democracy was in some way opposed to tradition. It is obvious that tradition is only democracy extended through time. It is trusting to a consensus of common human voices rather than to some isolated or arbitrary record. The man who quotes some German historian against the tradition of the Catholic Church, for instance, is strictly appealing to aristocracy. He is appealing to the superiority of one expert against the awful authority of a mob. It is quite easy to see why a legend is treated, and ought to be treated, more respectfully than a book of history. The legend is generally made by the majority of people in the village, who are sane. The book is generally written by the one man in the village who is mad. Those who urge against tradition that men in the past were ignorant may go and urge it at the Carlton Club, along with the statement that voters in the slums are ignorant. It will not do for us. If we attach great importance to the opinion of ordinary men in great unanimity when we are dealing with daily matters, there is no reason why we should disregard it when we are dealing with history or fable. Tradition may be defined as an extension of the franchise. Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about. All democrats object to men being disqualified by the accident of birth; tradition objects to their being disqualified by the accident of death. Democracy tells us not to neglect a good man's opinion, even if he is our groom; tradition asks us not to neglect a good man's opinion, even if he is our father. I, at any rate, cannot separate the two ideas of democracy and tradition; it seems evident to me that they are the same idea. We will have the dead at our councils. The ancient Greeks voted by stones; these shall vote by tombstones. It is all quite regular and official, for most tombstones, like most ballot papers, are marked with a cross.
[CW1:250-251]

If you don't already know it, "tradition" comes from a Latin verb, trado which means "I hand over, hand on, pass on" - and "I entrust". So many things you have, and think of as your own, have actually been handed on to you, often with great expense and at great effort on the part of others who were holding them in trust... you are so used to them you have forgotten where they came from - and (alas) you are most often utterly unaware of the power, the intense and extraordinary thing (for which "magic" might be the only good term) that you are capable of wielding with them.

What, for example? Do you really need me to tell you? OK: by what power are you reading this? (I don't mean the computer; I mean your ability to read, and to understand what I have written.) Your language is a tradition. No revolutionary, no "liberal" - in our modern sense - can escape it. Every science, every field of study presupposes language as a basis for its work; in that sense, even the hardest of the hard sciences is just another Liberal Art.

Ah. But consider this sentence again: "Tradition is the democracy of the dead." Are you starting to feel something powerfully magical here? Not just the idea of fairy tale, of some fanciful story told in the nursery. No; the idea that something - ah, like a magic wand - something almost unimaginably powerful was given to you long ago - given as your very own inheritance - and you've always had it. But you never really paid any attention to it, never thought of it as important: that odd wooden stick you've carried, dangling from your belt, or the sparks that flew out when your hand is near it... You don't like that hint of the "m" word? Then think of a pencil in your pocket, and its graphite smears on your hand. (Milo is given such a wand by the Mathemagician.) Not personal enough? Then how about speech? You do not even understand the power of your tongue? Why are so many powerful things attributed to speech? (Read the Epistle of St. James for details!) You have indeed inherited rich, oh, so rich, gifts. You abandon or neglect them at your peril.

One more paragraph brings us to the end of today's leg of our journey, and it is a very elegant summary of today's topic:

I have first to say, therefore, that if I have had a bias, it was always a bias in favour of democracy, and therefore of tradition. Before we come to any theoretic or logical beginnings I am content to allow for that personal equation; I have always been more inclined to believe the ruck of hard-working people than to believe that special and troublesome literary class to which I belong. I prefer even the fancies and prejudices of the people who see life from the inside to the clearest demonstrations of the people who see life from the outside. I would always trust the old wives' fables against the old maids' facts. As long as wit is mother wit it can be as wild as it pleases.
[CW1:251-2]

That word "ruck" is not a typo. (Yes, I had to look it up; I like to look things up, it's fun, you can find so many other things while you are looking!) "Ruck" means "the undistinguished multitude, the crowd of ordinary persons or things". It is one of GKC's favourite topics - you can find all kinds of references throughout GKC's writing to "The Common Man" - there's even a book called that.

GKC wants us, just to begin with, to see ourselves in a mirror (the magic thing with the strange color of the nearby!) It is magic, not because of the mirror, but because of us. We are unusual, we are marvels, we are extraordinary - because we are simply ordinary. And we have not even ventured into preternature (the land of fairy and magic), much less supernature (the Land of the Living, where He dwells in Whose image we are made.)

So - the next time you see a mirror, stop and behold the image and the likeness of God. A broken, sad, weak, confused, often whiney, nasty, mean and rude image, perhaps insanely preferring a demon as a model - but still His image: "For religion all men are equal, as all pennies are equal, because the only value in any of them is that they bear the image of the King." [GKC, Charles Dickens CW15:44] Nothing in the kosmos, except the Most Blessed Sacrament, is as holy as a human being. (Today, for much of the world, is the feast of Corpus Christi, which is transferred to this coming Sunday in the U.S.) Father Brown hints at this great credal mystery:

"It's the first effect of not believing in God that you lose your common sense, and can't see things as they are. Anything that anybody talks about, and says there's a good deal in it, extends itself indefinitely like a vista in a nightmare. ... all because you are frightened of four words: 'He was made Man.' "
[GKC, "The Oracle of the Dog" in The Incredulity of Father Brown]

Yes - one of the effects of reading GKC is we start seeing things as they are. Even in mirrors.

--Dr. Thursday

PS After writing this - and I did it AFTER lunch this time: I find that I have not been of much help at all on this leg. I shall ask you to read GKC's five paragraphs by yourself, and think about them. They are worth it. You will find yourself in awe of such company as we have, both living, and traditional.

Dr. Thursday's Post

Introductory: The Bridge to Elfland

Today, the Thursday in the octave of Pentecost, we come down from the "foothills" of Orthodoxy - what GKC calls the "rough review of recent thought" which is madness (the Maniac, chapter 1), as it is centered on self-destruction (the Suicide of Thought, chapter 2).

And lo: we find a bridge. Bridges could easily occupy several bloggs full of writers, whether one approaches from their science, their engineering, their poetry, their art, their symbolic significance....

Or, as GKC might say, bridges can be viewed as the Common Man views them: in the simple, commonplace sense that they provide a way of getting across chasms, rivers, and other such obstacles.

Sometimes the simple and obvious thing defeats us. (It ought to be the other way around: we ought to be using the simple and obvious to defeat our - uh - opposition.) In this next chapter, perhaps one of GKC's greatest and richest writings, we shall see how magic - yes, real, everyday, honest, homely, fairy-tale magic - can be used in this way. (Oh, are you bothered by that "m" word? Lest you misunderstand, I assure you: there is NO danger of demonism here. See my PS at the end.)

But the bridge before us beckons onward, to a wide and lovely land where we shall start our real quest, because, as we heard a week or so ago, "It is time we gave up looking for questions and began looking for answers." [CW1:241]

Wands out, everyone, and let us proceed.
Click wand here; no spell word is required.

The chapter we are entering is called "The Ethics of Elfland". All the lit'ry folk in the audience (you can tell them from the ink stains on their fingers), and the few philosophers who are still with us, will cheer, expecting this will get into some esoteric discussions of truth, fantasy and fiction. And all the scientists moan. (There are SOME scientists out there, I hope; someone has to be turning the crank to keep this network - uh - networking, and your lights shining. I don't count, as I'm on the hike with you! Then again, even the liberal arts folk have web pages now, and use laser printers, how curious.) As I said, the scientists moan, because they think magic and ethics and all that philosophy is boring. How surprised both sides will be! But I am getting ahead of myself.

I have, in the course of my blogging, often mentioned the works of Father Stanley Jaki, a great Chestertonian, a historian of science, and author of several dozen books, including the excellent little tome called Chesterton a Seer of Science. It contains a most important study of this particular chapter, and from it you will learn that about 1/3 of this "elvish" chapter of GKC was reprinted in Great Essays in Science, a title in the Pocket Library, edited by Martin Gardner (a name well-known in science and math circles). As Fr. Jaki revealed,

There was Chesterton in the company of Albert Einstein, Charles Darwin, Henri Fabre, J.R. Oppenheimer, Arthur Stanley Eddington, Alfred North Whitehead, and Bertrand Russell, so many giants in mathematics, physics, and natural history. Chesterton was also in the company of such prominent interpreters of science as John Dewey, Ernest Nagel, and even T. H. and Julian Huxley.
[Jaki, Chesterton: A Seer of Science, 14]

Now, of course, the moans and cheers from the two realms reverse, with the additional effect of a distinct murmur of confusion.

Well, is GKC crazy? (all that talk of Hanwell earlier, hmm...) What is he talking about? Is this science or magic? The real world or the elvish one?

Yes, that's exactly right. (That's the Boolean Yes, if you know what I mean: it's what the kids say when Mom asks if they want ice cream OR cake!) As I said, we are entering into a lovely, beautiful, amazing - and challenging part of our journey.

But I am talking about GKC, not Jaki. I highly recommend Jaki's book, especially for insight into this particular chapter, and the whole intellectual edifice of GKC, but I dare not go too far into it at present. (It's much like fudge, or donuts, or whatever sweet you delight in... you want to keep eating more... I 've got to stop writing these before lunch.) Ahem.

I said there is a bridge here, and I have intentionally provoked all the audience about it, because I, like GKC, am intent on his great engineering project:

"The rebuilding of this bridge between science and human nature is one of the greatest needs of mankind. We have all to show that before we go on to any visions or creations we can be contented with a planet of miracles."
[GKC The Defendant 75]

Incidentally, I first read that GKC quote in the aforementioned book by Jaki! But it is a magic bridge, and dangerous, as all bridges are. The chasm it crosses is of human make, after all, and so it is much worse than any merely natural division.

GKC gives this name, the Ethics of Elfland, because he wants to give us something as one gives to a child. (And now you MUST hear those ancient words: "Amen I say to you, unless you be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven." [Mt 18:3]) We need to sit together, yes, the scientists beside the lit'ry folk, and hear Uncle Gilbert tell us a story... "Will there be dragons?" Certainly. "Will there be real trees?" Oh yes. "Will we be there too?" Why, of course. (And it's a good story, I've heard it before...) You will learn as children do, about reality, and about right and wrong... no! it is NOT a sermon! Erase that thought. It is NOT that kind of tale! It is a story, about a marvellous world. (Will anyone recognize it, I wonder...)

Well, I don't want you to be confused here. This chapter is not in the form of a story. GKC keeps to his wandering wonder of words, marching to unheard music... But the music I hear (in the key of "G") is much like that famous "Promenade" from Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition", a cumbrous but bold waddle in alternate 5/4 and 6/4 signatures, as GKC stops to look at the pictures - of the real world... and hopes we might waddle along with him and see, and admire...

You may feel, as you enter into this chapter, that it is all verbal fireworks and no fusion. Fusion, you know, is the great power source of the universe: it is what makes the sun light up:

Twinkle twinkle little star:
We know much of what you are!

Atomic fusion makes you shine,
Giving us your light so fine...
Twinkle twinkle little star:
We know much of what you are.

Now to you our eyes we lift,
Thanking God for His great gift,
Twinkle twinkle little star:
We know much of what you are.
[from "Stellar Mechanics for Kids" one of my many unpublished works.]

Ahem. But actually the fireworks are works, even if they are not always firey. As you saw, even during the boring parts of the previous chapters, we are advancing. We shall see more of this very lovely, dangerous, and interesting country, the Elvish world wherein we live... but there is something still greater ahead.

GKC begins his serious work in this nursery "fairy tale" place because he is "now to trace the roots of my personal speculation" [CW1:249] and he finds these roots, not surprisingly, in the fairy tales from his early years. Lovely and thoughtful and rich in ideas, delighting the lit'ry realm... AND! At the same time, he gives, (as Jaki indicates) great, stable, reliable underpinnings to the logical and mechanical and scientific - not by taking away, but by adding...

Not either/or, but both/AND - for such is the Boolean Yes.

For he is a bridge builder. The bridge is splendid, but the other side awaits! Hurry! Let's go!

--Dr. Thursday

PS. I fear I ought to put some kind of explanation about use of "magic", and put it down here so it will be short. (though I will most likely fail in that too!)

The delight I have in telling you about magic is because it is exquisitely relevant to GKC's title. For as I use it, (and perhaps GKC too) "magic" refers to permission, not method. "Magic" is really just another word for "authority". If you are relying on "the proper authority" for your actions (however be the precise method of their enacting), those actions are therefore good. If, however you resort to the wrong "authority" (a pretender to, or a usurper of, the real authority) then those actions are bad. This is all spelled out (no pun intended) in Biringuccio's Pirotechnia... Hence GKC says "Ethics" - for his story is not just for mere delight (which is good too), but primarily for teaching about good - hence about truth.

One more word I must add here, the word "occult", which is from the Latin for hidden, NOT for evil. When the earth shadows the moon during a lunar eclipse, the moon is occulted, or hidden. Many things are occult, especially nowadays. The means by which your computer or your car works... most likely these are hidden from you. (Do YOU know about finite state machines or semiconductors or distributors or carburetors?) In philosophical terms, even a magnet or the substance called AMBER are said to be occult - no, not because we somehow think they are "demonic" - but because the means of their workings are hidden:

...we have to go on using the Greek
name of amber as the only name of electricity because we have no notion what is the real name or nature of
electricity.
[GKC, The Common Man 170]

Yes, the Greek word "Elektron" means "amber"; and "electricity" means no more than "the strange thing amber does". Sure, we know lots about them now, and can use them in marvellous ways, as your reading this demonstrates, but they are still mysterious, and certainly not simple to explain. You need to think about this, and about words, very carefully, or you will FALL OFF THE BRIDGE.

(No we are NOT going into "magic" like you may have read in - uh... well, let that remain occult. Perhaps we'll talk more, but elsewhere, and after you've read the chapter. Not here and now.)

Please, don't get worried here. You have no cause to worry. GKC (and his awkward assistant who is writing this) wants you to receive a good gift, as one gives something safe and beneficial to a child... for "If you then being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children: how much more will your Father who is in heaven, give good things to them that ask him?" [Mt 7:11] But do watch your step as we cross the bridge...

One more thing, most unrelated. I mentioned Martin Gardner... He is quite old, and as yet is not quite convinced about the truth the GKC strived so hard to present in this and other books. Please pray for him.

Dr. Thursday's Post

We are here in the Great Novena, the nine days of prayer to the Holy Spirit - and today we finish chapter III of Orthodoxy - our long journey through the foothills... What, you thought THOSE were mountains! Well, yes, this has been tiresome, and even GKC called it "the first and dullest business of this book - the rough review of recent thought." [CW1:246]

If you have been following along with our dull paragraph-plodding, reading one word after another, you will see, at the bottom of CW1:244, that GKC gives one more short analogy. It is worth study, not only because of the great "verbal fireworks" but because this holding up of a mirror is one of the best, and easiest Great Arguments to be used against so many wrong ideas being voiced today - the Argument of Symmetry, also called "practice what you preach", stated in wonderful mathematical precision in GKC's St. Thomas Aquinas:

"No sceptics work sceptically; no fatalists work fatalistically; all without exception work on the principle that it is possible to assume what it is not possible to believe. No materialist who thinks his mind was made up for him, by mud and blood and heredity, has any hesitation in making up his mind. No sceptic who believes that truth is subjective has any hesitation about treating it as objective. [CW2:542-3]

Exactly. But let us proceed.

Click to continue.

As usual, GKC picks a nicely debatable topic - the French Revolution. Those of us who were at the ACS conference in 2004 remember the hilarious debate about it between Mark Pilon (who said GKC was wrong) and Dale Ahlquist (who said "What?") Yes. Again, in true Thomistic fashion, GKC goes further toward truth, even with such a tense topic:

The French Revolution was really an heroic and decisive thing, because the Jacobins willed something definite and limited. They desired the freedoms of democracy, but also all the vetoes of democracy. They wished to have votes and not to have titles. Republicanism had an ascetic side in Franklin or Robespierre as well as an expansive side in Danton or Wilkes. Therefore they have created something with a solid substance and shape, the square social equality and peasant wealth of France. But since then the revolutionary or speculative mind of Europe has been weakened by shrinking from any proposal because of the limits of that proposal. Liberalism has been degraded into liberality. Men have tried to turn "revolutionise" from a transitive to an intransitive verb. The Jacobin could tell you not only the system he would rebel against, but (what was more important) the system he would not rebel against, the system he would trust. But the new rebel is a sceptic, and will not entirely trust anything. He has no loyalty; therefore he can never be really a revolutionist. And the fact that he doubts everything really gets in his way when he wants to denounce anything. For all denunciation implies a moral doctrine of some kind; and the modern revolutionist doubts not only the institution he denounces, but the doctrine by which he denounces it. Thus he writes one book complaining that imperial oppression insults the purity of women, and then he writes another book (about the sex problem) in which he insults it himself. He curses the Sultan because Christian girls lose their virginity, and then curses Mrs. Grundy because they keep it. As a politician, he will cry out that war is a waste of life, and then, as a philosopher, that all life is waste of time. A Russian pessimist will denounce a policeman for killing a peasant, and then prove by the highest philosophical principles that the peasant ought to have killed himself. A man denounces marriage as a lie, and then denounces aristocratic profligates for treating it as a lie. He calls a flag a bauble, and then blames the oppressors of Poland or Ireland because they take away that bauble. The man of this school goes first to a political meeting, where he complains that savages are treated as if they were beasts; then he takes his hat and umbrella and goes on to a scientific meeting, where he proves that they practically are beasts. In short, the modern revolutionist, being an infinite sceptic, is always engaged in undermining his own mines. In his book on politics he attacks men for trampling on morality; in his book on ethics he attacks morality for trampling on men. Therefore the modern man in revolt has become practically useless for all purposes of revolt. By rebelling against everything he has lost his right to rebel against anything.

It may be added that the same blank and bankruptcy can be observed in all fierce and terrible types of literature, especially in satire. Satire may be mad and anarchic, but it presupposes an admitted superiority in certain things over others; it presupposes a standard. When little boys in the street laugh at the fatness of some distinguished journalist, [Who do you think GKC is talking about? Hee hee.] they are unconsciously assuming a standard of Greek sculpture. They are appealing to the marble Apollo. And the curious disappearance of satire from our literature is an instance of the fierce things fading for want of any principle to be fierce about. Nietzsche had some natural talent for sarcasm: he could sneer, though he could not laugh; but there is always something bodiless and without weight in his satire, simply because it has not any mass of common morality behind it. He is himself more preposterous than anything he denounces. But, indeed, Nietzsche will stand very well as the type of the whole of this failure of abstract violence. The softening of the brain which ultimately overtook him was not a physical accident. If Nietzsche had not ended in imbecility, Nietzscheism would end in imbecility. Thinking in isolation and with pride ends in being an idiot. Every man who will not have softening of the heart must at last have softening of the brain.

This last attempt to evade intellectualism ends in intellectualism, and therefore in death. The sortie has failed. The wild worship of lawlessness and the materialist worship of law end in the same void. Nietzsche scales staggering mountains, but he turns up ultimately in Tibet. He sits down beside Tolstoy in the land of nothing and Nirvana. They are both helpless - one because he must not grasp anything, and the other because he must not let go of anything. The Tolstoyan's will is frozen by a Buddhist instinct that all special actions are evil. But the Nietzscheite's will is quite equally frozen by his view that all special actions are good; for if all special actions are good, none of them are special. They stand at the cross-roads, and one hates all the roads and the other likes all the roads. The result is - well, some things are not hard to calculate. They stand at the cross-roads.
[CW1:244-6, my emphasis]

Now, you can read all about the nothing-end (or beginning) of science in the ancient orient in Fr. Jaki's Science and Creation - but here you see that the oriental view is just as futile for anything else: the sceptic and the fatalist, the rebel and the revolutionist annihilate their own tools... they are "undermining their own mines."

It is, to recur to the title of the chapter, The Suicide of Thought.

But, as I told you, we are standing on a ridge (on its downward slope, admittedly) where we can see something lovely - something we are approaching. GKC, the artist, here writes a line which smacks of Art - and reminds me, since I have used the analogy of a hike into our text, of the amazing Pierre Duhem (1861-1916) who was a physicist and historian - and a hiker and artist as well. During his vacations from teaching, he would hike into the Alps and draw wonderful pictures of the scenes - see Jaki's The Physicist As Artist for a sample of his amazing works. Ahem. The line I refer to is:

After this I begin to sketch a view of life which may not interest my reader, but which, at any rate, interests me.
[CW1:246]

That is, in the forthcoming pages, indeed, the remainder of the book. But, in true hiker fashion - I recall Gandalf's explanation ("looking backward") to Bilbo after his rescue from the trolls - GKC takes one last glance backward before he leaves this dark part of the trail:

In front of me, as I close this page, is a pile of modern books that I have been turning over for the purpose - a pile of ingenuity, a pile of futility. By the accident of my present detachment, I can see the inevitable smash of the philosophies of Schopenhauer and Tolstoy, Nietzsche and Shaw, as clearly as an inevitable railway smash could be seen from a balloon. They are all on the road to the emptiness of the asylum. For madness may be defined as using mental activity so as to reach mental helplessness; and they have nearly reached it. He who thinks he is made of glass, thinks to the destruction of thought; for glass cannot think. So he who wills to reject nothing, wills the destruction of will; for will is not only the choice of something, but the rejection of almost everything.
[CW1:246]

This may recall a famous analogy speaking to God's foreknowledge of our free will: we are sitting on a mountaintop (we cannot get away from these hiking views, can we?) and watch as two trains, one on each side of the mountain, proceed along a pair of tracks where the signals have failed. We can know with certainty that they shall collide (or not) depending on our knowledge of the switch settings, but it is not WE who cause the collision. Here, too, GKC does not cause the "smash" - no, but we see it even more clearly a century afterwards, on cable TV, on the INTERNET, and in so many other ways.

Alas, it is not as comforting as a mere railway "smash". These dark ones are attacking even greater, and even holier things. Note again how GKC's argument proceeds: using, not abusing, even the things of his enemies, and always proceeding to greater matters than mere rebuttals of their errors. Also, you may wonder (having heard that this book is supposedly about "Christianity") how the topic will arise. You will find the matter first introduced in this chapter's concluding paragraph:

And as I turn and tumble over the clever, wonderful, tiresome, and useless modern books, the title of one of them rivets my eye. It is called "Jeanne d'Arc," by Anatole France. I have only glanced at it, but a glance was enough to remind me of Renan's "Vie de Jesus." It has the same strange method of the reverent sceptic. It discredits supernatural stories that have some foundation, simply by telling natural stories that have no foundation. Because we cannot believe in what a saint did, we are to pretend that we know exactly what he felt. But I do not mention either book in order to criticise it, but because the accidental combination of the names called up two startling images of sanity which blasted all the books before me. Joan of Arc was not stuck at the cross-roads, either by rejecting all the paths like Tolstoy, or by accepting them all like Nietzsche. She chose a path, and went down it like a thunderbolt. Yet Joan, when I came to think of her, had in her all that was true either in Tolstoy or Nietzsche, all that was even tolerable in either of them. I thought of all that is noble in Tolstoy, the pleasure in plain things, especially in plain pity, the actualities of the earth, the reverence for the poor, the dignity of the bowed back. Joan of Arc had all that and with this great addition, that she endured poverty as well as admiring it; whereas Tolstoy is only a typical aristocrat trying to find out its secret. And then I thought of all that was brave and proud and pathetic in poor Nietzsche, and his mutiny against the emptiness and timidity of our time. I thought of his cry for the ecstatic equilibrium of danger, his hunger for the rush of great horses, his cry to arms. Well, Joan of Arc had all that, and again with this difference, that she did not praise fighting, but fought. We know that she was not afraid of an army, while Nietzsche, for all we know, was afraid of a cow. Tolstoy only praised the peasant; she was the peasant. Nietzsche only praised the warrior; she was the warrior. She beat them both at their own antagonistic ideals; she was more gentle than the one, more violent than the other. Yet she was a perfectly practical person who did something, while they are wild speculators who do nothing. It was impossible that the thought should not cross my mind that she and her faith had perhaps some secret of moral unity and utility that has been lost. And with that thought came a larger one, and the colossal figure of her Master had also crossed the theatre of my thoughts. The same modern difficulty which darkened the subject-matter of Anatole France also darkened that of Ernest Renan. Renan also divided his hero's pity from his hero's pugnacity. Renan even represented the righteous anger at Jerusalem as a mere nervous breakdown after the idyllic expectations of Galilee. As if there were any inconsistency between having a love for humanity and having a hatred for inhumanity! Altruists, with thin, weak voices, denounce Christ as an egoist. Egoists (with even thinner and weaker voices) denounce Him as an altruist. In our present atmosphere such cavils are comprehensible enough. The love of a hero is more terrible than the hatred of a tyrant. The hatred of a hero is more generous than the love of a philanthropist. There is a huge and heroic sanity of which moderns can only collect the fragments. There is a giant of whom we see only the lopped arms and legs walking about. They have torn the soul of Christ into silly strips, labelled egoism and altruism, and they are equally puzzled by His insane magnificence and His insane meekness. They have parted His garments among them, and for His vesture they have cast lots; [Jn 19:24, quoting Ps 21(22):19] though the coat was without seam woven from the top throughout.
[CW1:246-8, emphasis added]

Since that ends the chapter I ought not go further, especially since it has such a musically satisfying cadence.

But I must be true to my own art here, and provide you with a link or two for your future reference. You have heard me refer to Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth previously, and you shall hear it mentioned again - so, if you recall when Milo meets the smallest giant, the biggest midget, and the others, you may note the parallel here. Should that seem too elusive a link, or too confusing, do not worry - you will hear more - FAR more - about this in a later chapter. Here's a sample of GKC's description of this mysterious person:

Outrageously tall men might feel him to be short. Very short men might feel him to be tall. Old bucks who are growing stout might consider him insufficiently filled out; old beaux who were growing thin might feel that he expanded beyond the narrow lines of elegance. Perhaps Swedes (who have pale hair like tow) called him a dark man, while negroes considered him distinctly blonde.
[CW1:294-5]

Yes, a mystery. You may try to guess who that is, but I expect that you will find it a Surprise. I think it is also a mystery to consider that I write this today, Thursday in the Great Novena, and seven weeks ago this evening we heard GKC's concluding quote of the Psalms as the priest stripped the altar... those terrible and barren and naked words, some of the saddest and most empty words of the psalms...

And this might make us ask: What if God rebelled? What if God revolted?

So let us, for a brief pause, ponder that stripping, that emptying - for very soon we shall have our fill. [cf. Mt 5:6]

Come, O Holy Spirit!
Fill the hearts of Thy faithful
and enkindle in them
the FIRE of Thy love!

Thou on those who evermore
Thee confess and Thee adore
In Thy sevenfold gift descend.

--Dr. Thursday.

Dr. Thursday's Post

Errors, Rush-ian Orthodoxy and Giraffes (again)

Happy Ascension!

One of the greatest, and most important, things I learned in college - I mean the academic part, not the social part - was that one does not get to know more about computers through the gate of higher mathematics which is labelled "Calculus". The mathematics of computers is not to be found on the great branch of the Tree of Knowledge which is called "Continuous" - but on the other, far smaller, and much less well known to most students, called "Discrete" - the mathematics which deals with numbers - that is, whole numbers, integers (Latin integer = whole, entire) in the old-fashioned way, as separate (discrete) things, and not just another point on a line.

Anyway - when I had my very first course in computers, our first assignment was to type up a very short program - we used punch cards in that class, though there were also "terminals" which were quite comparable to what you are no doubt using to read this. We had to check very carefully that we had "punched" them correctly, and when we had finished, we "submitted" them to the computer... and maybe 20 minutes later we received our "printout" results.

The curious thing was this, as our professor told us: "If you did this assignment correctly, you will have an error. This is intentional, and part of your learning about this subject."

And this is borne out by the Great Lecture given to Milo by the Princesses Rhyme and Reason: "you sometimes learn more from doing the wrong thing for the right reason than doing the right thing for the wrong reason." (In The Phantom Tollbooth, the movie; I quote from memory.)

(An aside: sure it is better if we always do the right thing - even if it's for the wrong reason. But the point made by R&R is that it is possible to learn even from our errors, even if we live in a Castle in the Air!)

But I'd prefer to say that this is part of the mystery of Sin. God permits (actually, tolerates, one of the few accurate uses of that dull word) sin because He can bring greater good from it. Think Adam: "o felix culpa the priest sung 40 nights ago: "O happy (or better, fruitful) fault!"

Why do I bring this up? Because in the next few verses from Orthodoxy, our current textbook, we shall hear in very quick order, the names of several dark-minded Heretics - those who are in error. And yet, our guide Uncle Gilbert shall show us how to use them to get over this last rough "Nietzsche Ridge" and receive some wonderful gifts...
Click here when you're ready.

Before we resume, just remember where we are: nearing the end of the chapter called "The Suicide of Thought", examining the ways that modern thinkers strive to make others (and themselves) STOP thinking. GKC pauses, nearing this last rather rough but not very tall ridge, and considers our journey thus far:

At the beginning of this preliminary negative sketch I said that our mental ruin has been wrought by wild reason, not by wild imagination. A man does not go mad because he makes a statue a mile high, but he may go mad by thinking it out in square inches. Now, one school of thinkers has seen this and jumped at it as a way of renewing the pagan health of the world. They see that reason destroys; but Will, they say, creates. The ultimate authority, they say, is in will, not in reason. The supreme point is not why a man demands a thing, but the fact that he does demand it.
[CW1:241]

The Will, hmmm. I mentioned The Phantom Tollbooth according to a plan, since I must now also mention the correlative text, The Neverending Story which (like so many fairy tales) emphasizes that most mysterious gift called The Will. (In an orc-tunnel beneath the Misty Mountains I hear someone murmuring "pity"...) For that is the error common to Nietzsche, Wells, Shaw, and some other authors. I shall not dig into this in detail - which is nearly what GKC writes too:

I have no space to trace or expound this philosophy of Will. It came, I suppose, through Nietzsche...
[CW1:241]

Now that I have stated this dark, sinister name, I can tell you why I began with my "error" in computing. I began this way to highlight the mystery of such a name - because in Deus Caritas Est the very first quote made by the Holy Father comes not from Aquinas, nor even from a saint - but from Nietzsche! He sounds very Chestertonian here, too:

According to Friedrich Nietzsche, Christianity had poisoned eros, which for its part, while not completely succumbing, gradually degenerated into vice.[1] Here the German philosopher was expressing a widely-held perception: doesn't the Church, with all her commandments and prohibitions, turn to bitterness the most precious thing in life?
[Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, 3; note [1] states "Cf. Jenseits von Gut und Böse, IV, 168." This is quoted from the EWTN Library.]

Like my computer science professor, and the Princesses Rhyme and Reason, Benedict shows us that sometimes we need to see an error first in order to learn more about the truth. And remember, we are travelling through this very difficult territory with Uncle Gilbert to learn, as he did, the ways which are wrong - so that we shall know the Right Way.

GKC thinks that the error bean with Nietzsche, and goes on to its appearance in other Heretics:

But however it began, the view is common enough in current literature. The main defence of these thinkers is that they are not thinkers; they are makers. They say that choice is itself the divine thing. Thus Mr. Bernard Shaw has attacked the old idea that men's acts are to be judged by the standard of the desire of happiness. He says that a man does not act for his happiness, but from his will. He does not say, "Jam will make me happy," but "I want jam." And in all this others follow him with yet greater enthusiasm.
[CW1:241]

Ah, jam. (I had some grape jam at my feast-day breakfast this morning.) You might say I delight in quoting children's fantasies - I do, and even more because few others do, and at least I have a familiarity with them. (Didn't I tell you how I lectured from Alice in Wonderland when I taught computer science classes? I did. Ahem.) But I might just as well quote Chesterton's children's fantasies, as those of you will know who have read the treasure-trove called CW14. The scene is at breakfast, a number of people are sitting around the table. Our hero, Petersen, has just made a very grand insight which I cannot take the space to quote, and the room is silent for a moment.

Marjory was watching him keenly: she had just had a gleam of hope. His eyes were slowly filling with the pale blue fire she knew well: it was so he used to look when she read him a poem, or when the sunset grew red and gold over the wooded hill. At such moments he would say something which she couldn't understand.
At length the words came, with a kind of timid radiance.
"May I have jam?"
"Certainly," she said, raising her eyebrows wearily. He only smiled ravenously, but she felt sure that if any earthly chair had been high enough he would have kicked his legs. There was another silence.
"Some fellows like butter and jam," said the religious enthusiast of the morning's conversation. "I think that's beastly."
"The main benefit of existence," said Marjory bitterly, "seems to be eating."
"Hardly the main benefit surely," said Petersen calmly, "though I agree with you that it is a neglected branch of the poetry of daily life. The song of birds, the sight of stars, the scent of flowers, all these we admit are a divine revelation, why not the taste of jam?"
"Not very poetical to my fancy," said Marjory, scornfully.
"It is uncultivated," said Petersen, "but a time may come when it will be elaborated into an art as rich and varied as music or painting. People will say, 'There is an undercurrent of pathos in this gravy, despite its frivolity,' or 'Have you tasted that passionate rebellious pudding? Ethically I think it's dangerous.' After all, eating has a grander basis than the arts of the other senses, for it is absolutely necessary to existence: it is the bricks and mortar of the Temple of the Spirit."
And he took a large bite out of the bread and jam.
[CW14:786-7]

But now I am only doing what GKC did - he mentions John Davidson, H.G. Wells and another snippet from Shaw (apparently quoting Bentham) about this same thing - then gives the summary:

The real difference between the test of happiness and the test of will is simply that the test of happiness is a test and the other isn't. You can discuss whether a man's act in jumping over a cliff was directed towards happiness; you cannot discuss whether it was derived from will. Of course it was. You can praise an action by saying that it is calculated to bring pleasure or pain to discover truth or to save the soul. But you cannot praise an action because it shows will; for to say that is merely to say that it is an action. By this praise of will you cannot really choose one course as better than another. And yet choosing one course as better than another is the very definition of the will you are praising.
[CW1:242]

And as you have noticed, I also like to quote rock music. Here, we see an idea powerfully expressed by the Canadian group "Rush":

"If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice..."
["Free Will", Rush]

(Wow, I wonder if they ever read any GKC.) It is worth going further along this ridge - as you have seen if you have travelled with us so far, we acquire new and powerful tools at each stop. Here is today's gift, derived directly from those great Heretics GKC quotes. This is one of the most quick-moving, most verbally rich, most fireworky, but also most deep and useful passages we have seen - perhaps because from here we can see a grand view of the territory we shall shortly be travelling. This bit might be called the "Pleiades" - the Seven Sisters - of Orthodoxy, for from it we receive (as if at Pentecost) a sevenfold gift! What a remarkable place we are now at! Read it carefully:

...they [these Heretics] always talk of will as something that expands and breaks out. But it is quite the opposite.

(1) Every act of will is an act of self-limitation. To desire action is to desire limitation.

(2) In that sense every act is an act of self-sacrifice. When you choose anything, you reject everything else.

That objection, which men of this school used to make to the act of marriage, is really an objection to every act.

(3) Every act is an irrevocable selection and exclusion.

Just as when you marry one woman you give up all the others, so when you take one course of action you give up all the other courses. If you become King of England, you give up the post of Beadle in Brompton. If you go to Rome, you sacrifice a rich suggestive life in Wimbledon. It is the existence of this negative or limiting side of will that makes most of the talk of the anarchic will-worshippers little better than nonsense. For instance, Mr. John Davidson tells us to have nothing to do with "Thou shalt not"; but it is surely obvious that "Thou shalt not" is only one of the necessary corollaries of "I will." "I will go to the Lord Mayor's Show, and thou shalt not stop me." Anarchism adjures us to be bold creative artists, and care for no laws or limits.

(4) But it is impossible to be an artist and not care for laws and limits.

(5) Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame.

If you draw a giraffe, you must draw him with a long neck. If, in your bold creative way, you hold yourself free to draw a giraffe with a short neck, you will really find that you are not free to draw a giraffe.

(6) The moment you step into the world of facts, you step into a world of limits.

You can free things from alien or accidental laws, but not from the laws of their own nature. You may, if you like, free a tiger from his bars; but do not free him from his stripes. Do not free a camel of the burden of his hump: you may be freeing him from being a camel. Do not go about as a demagogue, encouraging triangles to break out of the prison of their three sides. If a triangle breaks out of its three sides, its life comes to a lamentable end. Somebody wrote a work called "The Loves of the Triangles"; I never read it, but I am sure that if triangles ever were loved, they were loved for being triangular. This is certainly the case with all artistic creation, which is in some ways the most decisive example of pure will.

(7) The artist loves his limitations: they constitute the thing he is doing. The painter is glad that the canvas is flat. The sculptor is glad that the clay is colourless.
[CW1:243-4]

Yes, the line-breaks and numbering are mine. You may see from number (2) why I speculated whether "Rush" had read GKC. You will also recall that I promised we should see our friendly giraffe again, and here he is! And if you are interested in the "larger" map of GKC's works, you may wish to add a cross-reference to his fiction: Gabriel Gale asks:

"Were you ever an isosceles triangle?"
"Very seldom," replied Garth with restraint. "May I ask what the devil you are talking about?"
"Only something I was thinking about," answered the poet, lifting himself on to one elbow. "I wondered whether it would be a cramping sort of thing to be surrounded by straight lines, and whether being in a circle would be any better."
["The Yellow Bird" in The Poet and the Lunatics]

The last three of the seven, which speak of art and limit, (and of science, as readers of Fr. Jaki already know, and as we shall shortly learn from GKC) are found in many other places in GKC's writing; the idea constitutes what I call a "motif" within his writing: like a musical theme, the idea appears in many other forms and places, and I would fill in another posting or two to quote them - perhaps someday we'll explore them. But for now we must hurry along our present course. Yes - as we begin the Great Novena tomorrow in our preparation for Pentecost, let us think on all this richness - remembering that with great gifts comes great responsibilities. And pray for each other as we proceed with our journey...

--Dr. Thursday